I turn, annoyed. “You could have just told me it’s my turn. No need to be nasty.”
She huffs as I turn back, and as I reach the door, the men’s room opens—and out steps Harrison.
Holy shit, he’s even more beautiful close-up.
My steps falter when he raises a brow, smirking, and I bite my lip to hide one myself.
Those blue eyes freely roam my body, sending goose bumps along my skin. “Hi,” he murmurs deeply.
I blush and smile. “Hello,” I rasp, not recognizing my own voice.
Hmm, is the new Jules flirty? I think I love that for her, even if it’s the margaritas giving her courage. Or maybe it’sHarrisonthat’s bringing out a bolder side of me.
He reaches his hand out. “Harrison.”
I place mine, which looks small and delicate, in his large, strong hand. “Juliette.” I try to shake his hand. Instead, he squeezes mine gently and brings it to his lips.
Dear God, breathe, Jules!
His full lips on my skin send a warming shiver through my body that I can’t explain. My brain is completely fried.
With his lips lingering over my skin, he asks if I have a last name, and before I can answer, I’m interrupted.
“Can you fucking go into the bathroom already?” the girl barks.
“Sorry.” I cringe when I see more people have joined the line.
I glance up at Harrison one last time, letting my eyes rake over what I call perfection, burning the image into my memories, then turn and close the bathroom door, hearing a faint“wait”as I walk away.
The decision I make in that split second to walk into the bathroom is the right one. What business do I have flirting with someone like Harrison?
Older, mature, rich, and a father.
None. None at all.
It doesn’t matter that I’ve never been physically more attracted to someone or how. In all the years I dated Hunter, he never made my heart beat a mile a minute.
It doesn’t matter.Right?
When I return to my table, unable to stop, I glance at the bar, and he’s gone. His drink is cleaned up, and his suit jacket is missing. My stomach drops in disappointment.
Well, I guess that’s that.
“Oh. My. God. Oh my god. Oh my god!” Carrie cries, flapping her arms around, then throws something at Becks.
Becks’s eyes widen. “Where the hell did you get this?”
“Christopher, the bartender, asked me for a life update. I got a little emotional, and I think one of my customers was listening the whole time. When he left, he looked me straight in the eye and said, ‘Even though you might not feel it, you will get through it. Do it for your kids.’”
“What customer?” I ask.
“Did you see that hottie sitting at the bar earlier?” She points to Harrison’s seat.
I sure did.
Glancing over to what Beck’s is holding—it’s a fifteen hundred dollar tip. I stare at Becks, and she rolls her eyes, “Fine. Maybe he’s not as bad as I thought.”
He’s perfect. Too bad I’ll never see him again.
